


I Don't Think We Should Work Together

by ProfessorDrarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, I don't know how to tag this drabble, Pre-Slash, there's just a lot of obvious flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 20:24:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorDrarry/pseuds/ProfessorDrarry
Summary: "Pansy, you can think what you want,” Ginny laughed finally. “But I just don’t know if it’s going to go all that well for us to work together on something as important as this. And not for the reason which you so delicately described."





	I Don't Think We Should Work Together

Ginny stared at Primm for a moment and could feel the incredulous anger bubble up inside of her the longer the two continued to glare each other down. Her cheeks were already warm and she knew that soon, she would be sporting a truly embarrassing level of angry flush on her freckle-ridden cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she hissed. “You expect me to do _what_.”

“It’s a part of your contract renewal, Weasley,” Primm insisted harshly. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“A _Public Relations Consultation_ ,” Ginny blustered.

“There’s no point arguing. Master’s thinks you could use some help dealing with the press.” Primm smirked at her and folded her arms defiantly. Ginny couldn’t help but fixate just a little bit on how much shittier her life had become since Gweneth Primm had become the Holyhead’s latest stereotypically-beautiful and mean-girl-in-disguise captain. She sighed. “Fine,” Ginny relented. “Let’s get this over with. Where is my lovely Talk Pretty and Smile Nice coach.”

Ginny was used to PR flacks. She knew that despite being the best player on the team, her temper did not always relate well to the fans and the press. Harry had always teased her about how bad she was at talking to people who weren’t him. Everyone assumed it was because she didn’t care; that wasn’t the case. She cared _way too much_ , and the press insisted on talking to her right after games. Moments when being the team chaser meant you had either won or lost the game for the seeker. And sometimes, she forgot to be gracious when someone all but blamed her.

Primm handed her a sheet with an address, an agency name, and an appointment card. She could have sworn that she also muttered ‘good bloody luck’ under her, but Ginny couldn’t be sure.

* * *

 

“Today’s the day, Princess.” Shuddered under the purring gasp of the very-inappropriately named cat, who looked constantly like someone had run over it with a flat-iron. “Sports lads,” she groaned. “What did I do to the universe to deserve _sports lads_.”

Princess just stared at her. Pansy had been dreading this contract for weeks; the big bosses had offered no alternative and no information.

‘Big name in Quidditch, non-disclosure clause, a requirement of contract renewal’. Blah, freaking blah. As though that was enough reason to not even prepare Pansy for what awaited her. The knock shouldn’t have been surprising since the appointment had been set for weeks, but Pansy still stared at the door angrily for a moment before opening it with a lazy flick of her wand.

And in strode Ginny _fucking_ Weasley.

Pansy hadn’t seen her since her own seventh year; the year where they’d been expected to torture everyone and where Ginny Weasley had made everyone’s life a screaming hell.

“You,” Weasley growled when she noticed Pansy leaning on her desk.

“You,” Pansy returned, quirking her eyebrow. She stood up and walked gingerly on the too-high heel she’d chosen this morning, small tight steps necessary in the killer-tight pencil skirt she’d chosen at the last second. Sports lad, Ginny Weasley was not.

Pansy had to admit, privately and to herself, that she was glad to be working with something containing a bit more finesse. It was easier to create something from something than inspire elegance and poise from an ugly boulder. She walked a slow circle around Ginny, appraising in an almost entirely professional way.

“Okay,” she concluded, sitting back down behind her desk. “We can work with that. Sit.”

Ginny scoffed. “Still under the delusion that you can order people around, I see.”

“Oh I’m sorry. You’re oh so famous for your absolutely impeccable manners. Won’t you _please_ take a seat, Ms Weasley, and can I offer you a gold-encrusted cup of tea?”

Ginny rolled her eyes and slouched her way into a chair across from Pansy’s desk.

“Step one,” Pansy said, returning her eye roll. “Sit the fuck up. You look like a twelve-year-old boy.”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but Pansy was shocked to find the barest hint of an amused smile beneath her angry eyes. “Are you allowed to talk to me like that?”

Pansy, against her will, returned the smirk that may not have actually existed. “Unless you ask me not to. Do you want me to stop?”

Ginny was shocked at the jolt that hit her stomach at the nonchalant statement from Pansy Parkinson. Had Ginny been previously unaware of her occasional attraction to women, it might have startled her slightly to find heat pooling in her abdomen. She shook her head at Pansy’s question and pretended to listen as she drowned on for a moment about the goal of their session.

Pansy’s deep purple blouse was flowy and sateen; it gaped in all the right places and hugged in even better ones. It screamed expensive and tucked itself neatly into that sinful skirt that had been on full display when Ginny had walked in.

And those heels. Those jewel purple heels.

_They’d be excellent wrapped around…_

Ginny shook her head. She had definitely not been listening. “Parkinson,” she interrupted. “Are you the only person who works here?”

“What?” Pansy replied, taken aback. “No. Why?”

“I need to request a different...person, or whatever.”

Pansy’s eyes darkened immediately. She nodded her head once and stood up, straightening that almost-too-tight skirt. “Fine,” she said cordially.

“It’s nothing you—”

“No, don’t bother. You know, you all make such a big deal but I’d argue that you are all the ones who are prejudiced these days.”

“What?” Ginny said, bewildered. She stood quickly, following Parkinson to the door of the office.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s fine, Weasley,” Pansy said tersely, averting her eyes and opening the door. “You’re hardly the first person to refuse to work with a former suspected Death Eater. Someone from my office will be in contact with you shortly to reassign your contract.”

Ginny stared at Pansy Parkinson a moment; her haircut was a severe as it had always been. Ginny didn’t remember much of this person from school. She had always just been by Draco’s side, and since the start of the very bizarre relationship between Harry and Draco, she’d only heard about her in the whining complaints of the idiot who she only tolerated for the sake of Harry’s happiness. Even those stories intrigued her.

She chuckled lightly as Pansy continued to hold the door open with one foot stuck out, those heels tauntingly sharp and perfectly positioned.

“Pansy, you can think what you want,” Ginny laughed finally. “But I just don’t know if it’s going to work all that well for us to work together on something as important as this. And not for the reason which you so delicately described.”

The statement had the desired effect. Pansy’s head snapped back to meet Ginny's’ gaze, the glare and sharpness sending that jolt back down Ginny’s spine. “Oh is that so,” she snapped. She crossed her arms across her chest. Ginny was not going to complain about that stance, either. “And what, may I ask, _is_ the reason then."

Ginny shrugged, shouldering her bag again and striding towards the exit.

“I’m just not so sure how successful we’d be in my media classes in this office,” Ginny stated casually. “Not when I am so fixated on throwing you across that desk of yours and making you forget your own name.”

She smiled broadly at Pansy and waved a small wave. “I’ll be waiting for that call. In the meantime, Harry has my number. Feel free to bring those heels.”

 


End file.
